


The Trial

by Keysmasher



Series: Good Girl [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad courtroom etiquette, Multi, Slight Criminal Minds Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keysmasher/pseuds/Keysmasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Maria gave birth, and they're just now trying the scumbag who abducted her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trial

"Hi, Mama!" Anna called when Maria walked in the door. Aspian echoed her a second later.

"Hey, babies," she said affectionately. "Is Papa or Daddy around?"

"Kishen," Aspian said.

"Excellent." Maria hung up her coat and knelt next to them. "Whatcha making?"

"Castle," Anna announced, pushing two Legos together with a _click._

Maria laughed and kissed her head. "Shoulda known. I'm going to go talk to Daddy and Papa, and I'll be back in a minute."

"Kay," they chorused, already focused on their blocks again.

She found Sam and Dean in the kitchen, as promised. Sam was heating up milk on the stove; Dean was chopping bell peppers. "Hey, loves," she said.

"Hi, sweetheart. Have a good day?"

"Yeah, you?"

"It was a day. Anna and Aspian drove their teacher nuts."

Maria laughed. "I'm not surprised. They're a handful. Sam?"

"Yeah," he said absently, reaching for the cocoa powder. Maria was briefly distracted by his long arms and gorgeous hands.

"How was your day?" she asked, recalling herself.

"Boring."

"Sorry." Maria opened the door to the refrigerator and started looking for something to drink.

"I think I might go back to school."

Maria blinked, head still in the fridge. "What?"

"I'm bored," Sam admitted.

Maria stood, a bottle of apple juice in her hand. "What do you want to do?"

"I don’t know. Something to help people."

"I've been feeling the same," Dean said. "Thought about becoming a doctor, but I'm not sure I want that much school."

Maria nodded slowly. "Makes sense. So what were you thinking about doing, Sam?"

"Maybe nursing? I don’t want an MD, but I want to help people. Maybe in a mental health place."

"I can see you being good at that," Maria said after a minute. "Want to look up nursing programs after dinner?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I know the community college has an RN program, but I'm not sure if that's what I need."

"I think I'll take some classes in the fall," Dean said. "Figure out if this is what I really want to do."

"All right," Maria said, finally getting down a glass and pouring herself some juice. "Just let me know if we need to shuffle some money around between accounts."

As promised, they waited until Anna and Aspian were in bed to look up nursing programs. Cas appeared just after ten; it was parent-teacher conference night, and so they hadn't been expecting him until then. He greeted each of them with a kiss and sat right down to talk with Sam and Dean.

In the shower that night, Maria worried. Medical school was expensive, and Dean wouldn't be able to work full-time while he was there. They'd been socking away money as much as they could, but four-year-olds like Anna and Aspian required a lot of time and attention; even with four of them, keeping up with the twins was a scramble. When they went to full-day kindergarten rather than half-day preschool, it would be a relief - not because she didn't love the two of them with everything she had, but because it would mean they could have regular work schedules without scheduling breaks and babysitters.

But with Sam and Dean both in school, could they make it work? She wasn't worried about finances; she had squirreled away enough money, and mechanics of Dean's caliber made enough to begin with, that short of emergencies they'd be okay until Dean went to grad school, and that was at least four years away. _We have time,_ she thought. _There's time._ She was more worried about the strain it would put on their relationship - her memories of grad school were tinged through with disbelief over how much time she'd had to spend on schoolwork, and medical school was supposed to be much harder - and on the kids.

"Love you," she whispered to Cas that night.

"Love you too," he mumbled, already half-asleep.  
***  
It was noon the next day that she got a text from Dean: _Sam's doing the nursing program. I'm going for an associate's. Talk at home?_

 _Sure,_ she sent back. No sooner had she done that than her cell rang with a number she recognized. "Dr. Maria Brasen here."

"Hi, Dr. Brasen, this is Genevieve calling from the United States District Court on Constitution Avenue in Washington, DC. This is a call to let you know that the trial of Michael Jones is scheduled to begin next Monday, October 9. You are listed as a witness for the prosecution."

"Yes," she said, feeling sick; this was not the first such call she'd gotten, and so she knew Genevieve would be waiting for some kind of confirmation.

"You should present yourself on Monday the ninth of October at eight-thirty AM. If you are unable to appear, you should call this number so we may notify the judge and attorneys. Do you have any questions for me?"

"No," she said, and hung up.

 _There'll be a continuance,_ she reminded herself. She'd done this six times already, only to be called two or three nights before the start date and informed that the trial had been rescheduled for one, three, six months down the line. It was no use getting worked up when she probably wouldn't have to go into DC at all.

She told her men about it when she got home that night. They'd been through it before with her; they knew by now to pour her a whiskey and distract her. She spent the night playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with the kids and Cas while Sam and Dean played Battleship, and then discussing money and time for when Sam and Dean went back to school.

As the days wore on with no sign of a phone call to let her know there was a continuance, she got more and more worried that the trial was actually going to happen. On Thursday, she got a call from a DC area code and answered it fast: "Maria Brasen."

"Hi, Dr. Brasen, it's SSA Derek Morgan with the FBI. I was hoping there was a time this week we could go over your testimony and prepare you for the trial that starts on Monday."

She slumped. "No continuance this time?"

"The judge denied it."

"Okay, okay, um...I can clear my schedule, what time works for you?"

"Tomorrow, around four? Meet you at your office?"

"All right," she said. "See you then."

"See you then," he confirmed, and hung up.

She told the others about it that night, once the kids were in bed, and it didn't take long to hammer out the logistics. She and Sam would book a hotel for Sunday night so they could get into DC without having to deal with rush hour on the Beltway, which was always a mess, and come back after her testimony. Sam went on the computer to find a place near the courthouse and make the reservation.

That night, Maria's sleep was plagued by nightmares. The drugs that Jones had given her, combined with the drugs she'd been given at the hospital, had more or less wiped her memory of the events; the most she remembered was an EMT standing over her and then a ripping, tearing pain coursing through her lower body. That didn't stop her subconscious from creating details out of nothing, making Jones into a monster that tore her limb from limb or crushed her to death or skinned her children in front of her. She jerked awake, over and over, and finally gave up on sleep around three in the morning. She curled into Sam and shook until her alarm went off three hours later.

She kept freezing up at work that morning, remembering piece after nightmarish piece, details she wasn't sure if she was remembering or just making up appearing in her mind's eye as she tried to do work. At one in the afternoon she gave up, emailed her floor manager to call on her cell if there was a problem, and wandered around the museum for a while. Nobody could take her if she was in the middle of a crowd, right?

At three-thirty, she returned to her office. She hadn't eaten that day, but it didn't matter; her stomach was in knots, and if she ate anything she'd just throw it up. Leaving her door open, she sat at her desk and checked her email.

Morgan showed up at ten to four. She stood and stretched out a hand, managing to smile at him. He smiled back and shook it. "Hello, Dr. Brasen."

"Agent Morgan. Good to see you again."

"And you. I brought Dr. Reid; he's making his way up, but he tends to be fascinated by museums, so it may be a few minutes."

Maria laughed. "I understand. My husband Cas is the same way."

"How are they doing with all this?"

"Fine. Sam's coming to DC with me."

"That's good. And the kids?"

"Normal four-year-olds. They start kindergarten next year." She smiled, a little sadly.

"Wow. Time flies."

"It does," she agreed. "So. What's going on today?"

"Today we'll be going over your testimony. It's been four years, so you need to be sure of the details. The smallest inconsistency will be pounced on. I have the statement you gave us while you were still in the hospital" - he flashed her a piece of paper - "and we'll start when Reid gets here."

"Can I get you something to drink while we wait? Coffee, tea, water?"

"Uh, sure. Coffee would be great. Reid'll probably want some too, when he gets here."

Reid appeared just as she was setting a full cup on the desk in front of Morgan. "Hi," he said.

"Hello, Dr. Reid," she said. "Lovely to see you again. Would you like to have a seat?"

"Sure. That exhibit on Mesopotamian art before the third century, who came up with that?"

Maria shrugged. "Corporate sends me a number of time periods and a number of geographic areas a year. It's pretty much mix-and-match." She set a cup down in front of the chair Reid had chosen and turned to get the sugar and creamer. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as her right leg buckled under her, the outside of her thigh ripping and protesting the movement. Her hand slammed into the back of her chair to keep her balance.

"Are you okay?" both of the men behind her blurted.

She waved a hand. "Fine," she said, blinking back tears and slowly bringing her leg back into alignment. "One day I'll remember not to plant my foot when I turn...what was I looking for? Sugar, that's it…." She found the small container of creamer and sweetener packets and set it in the middle of the desk as she sat down and carefully stretched out her leg. When they'd finished stirring their coffee, she smiled at them. "Where do we begin?"  
***  
Monday morning dawned far too soon for anyone's liking. Traffic was a nightmare, as it always was in DC, and so they were running a few minutes late when they finally pulled into courthouse parking. Maria and Sam hurried into the courthouse and waited in the security line for nearly ten minutes before it was their turn. They put their wallets and miscellaneous bits of pocket debris in the same bucket to go through the scanner. Sam went through the metal detector first without a hitch; when Maria walked through, it buzzed at her.

"Step over here, please, ma'am," a female officer said, beckoning to her.

Maria did as she was told. "I have metal in my back," she told the woman.

"How much?"

"Collarbones to hips."

The woman sighed. "Arms out and legs spread, please."

Maria endured the silent scanning and patdown and ignored the stares she was attracting. The officer finally stepped away and handed her a badge marked 'visitor'. "If you need to be in a certain courtroom let the receptionist know. Have a nice day," she recited.

"Thanks," Maria said. The officer was already moving off.

Sam handed her her purse and kissed her forehead when she rejoined him. "Ready yet?"

"Yeah," she said, making a face. "Don't suppose you already asked the receptionist where to go?"

"This way," he said, shepherding her into an elevator. "You'll be in a side room until they call you - I can't go in with you. I'll be waiting in the courtroom."

She slipped her arms around him. "I love you," she said, voice muffled by his chest.

He hugged her back. "I love you too, baby. I'll be right there if you get nervous."

The doors dinged. A few people got on, and they separated, though they continued to hold hands until they went into different rooms outside the courtroom door.

It was a long, boring day. Maria stared at the book she'd brought and occasionally turned a page, but she couldn't keep her mind on the task. The team that had rescued her sat on the other side of the room, but they were called out one by one hours before she herself was. When the bailiff led her into the room, she stumbled; she hadn't been expecting such a packed room, or the video cameras in the back.

"State your name," a man said to her.

She cleared her throat. "Maria Brasen."

"Maria Brasen, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"Have a seat."

The chair was far from comfortable. She wished she had a lumbar pillow; straight-backed chairs were the worst. She searched the crowd for Sam and couldn't find him, but her eyes did lock onto Michael Jones, sitting at the defendant's table. He looked like any other middle-aged man, which was odd; shouldn't there be some spark of madness in his eyes, some kind of marker that he liked to torture and kill people like her?

"Dr. Brasen," the prosecutor said, and she jerked her head to meet his eyes. "Could you please tell the court what you do for a living?"

"I am the curator of the Curious Minds Museum in Winchester, Virginia."

"Can you tell us some of your professional responsibilities?"

"I create exhibits, file paperwork, keep in contact with our national headquarters, and generally keep the place running and the information accurate."

"At the time of the incident for which Michael Jones is on trial, were you performing these duties?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"I was on maternity leave."

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

"One of each. Twins."

"Did you deliver at home or in a hospital?"

She swallowed. "Neither."

"Can you elaborate?"

"I gave birth in a filthy apartment over a movie theater."

"Why?"

"I was taken from my home by a man wearing a shirt labeling him as a paramedic."

"Can you tell the court, in your own words, what happened to cause you to become a witness for the prosecution?"

Maria swallowed. "I was - I was on bed rest. My husband, Cas, he had to go to work - it was his last shift, he was quitting his job so there would be someone home with the kids when they were delivered and I went back to work. I made more money, you see, so it made sense for him to stay at home.

"He was out of the house when somebody started shaking me. I woke up and saw a man in an EMT's shirt telling me he was taking me to the hospital. I felt something prick my arm, and when I woke up I was tied to a bed in a room I didn't recognize."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I yelled for help through the gag. It felt like - like _hours_ I screamed. The panic started me in labor, and I was thrashing around and screaming. When the door opened, I thought it was the man coming back to finish me off, but it was the FBI. They untied me and delivered the babies. I was in and out for that, I don't remember a lot of it, but when I woke up in the hospital I found out I'd - I'd ripped out a rod from a - a spinal fusion I'd had when I was t-twelve, and-" she impatiently wiped her eyes and swallowed - "a piece of my hip had gotten taken out with it."

"Did you sustain any other injuries?"

"Rope burn. Pretty minor compared to the vertebrae that got ripped in half."

"How many vertebrae was that?"

"That was - T8 to L3, so, um - eight."

"Eight vertebrae and a hip were damaged in this attack," the prosecutor repeated.

"Yes, sir," she said, voice cracking wildly.

"And mentally, afterward, how did you feel?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle, hating that this was getting dragged out for the world to see. "Like - like I wasn't safe unless I had someone with me. Like my house wasn't safe, that my kids weren't safe. Every time I was alone in a room I was terrified."

"Did you ever see a therapist for these problems?"

She nodded. "Cas, he talked me into it a few months later."

"Months," he said, turning to the jury. "This attack left her feeling unsafe for _months._ Did it affect your parenting?" he asked her.

"I couldn't breastfeed," she said. "I - not with the painkillers I was on. I couldn't even hold them for a while afterward." Her breath hitched.

"Dr. Brasen, you're doing wonderfully," the prosecutor assured her. "Now, if you don't mind, just a few more questions. Several FBI agents have already testified that the defendant attacked women he considered, quote, 'whores'. In what way do you fit that profile?"

She swallowed and sat up straighter. "Cas and I - no, that's not how I want to say this," she muttered. "Cas is not my only husband. I have two others - Sam and Dean - that aren't legally recognized. The four of us are very happy together, and have been living as married adults for nearly six years now."

"At the time of the incident, how long had you been married?"

"A little more than a year."

"And dating?"

"At that point - oh - three years or so?"

"You had been in a committed relationship for two years before being married, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you've been married for six years now." The prosecutor smiled and joked, "Better than quite a few celebrities."

"I suppose," she said. The jury laughed politely.

"Dr. Brasen, is there anything else you can think of that you would like to tell the court?"

Maria swallowed again and thought. "No," she said at last.

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"Defense counsel?" the judge asked.

"Maria - may I call you that? - Maria, at the time of the alleged incident, you were on bed rest, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"How many hours a day were you sleeping?"

"It really depended on the day. Ballpark, six to sixteen."

"Six to sixteen hours," he said. "Now, I'd like to go back to a discrepancy in your statement. Four years ago, you made no mention of a prick. Earlier, you testified that you felt a prick on your right arm. How do you explain this?"

"First, I never said it was my _right_ arm, just that it was my arm. Second, I was on quite a lot of narcotics when I gave that statement. I imagine the drugs had something to do with it."

"So you were using mind-altering substances at the time of the incident?"

"No," she said.

"But you were on narcotics."

"Afterwards. When I was in the hospital."

"Hmm. So the police didn't wait until you had a clear head to take your statement? Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"Not particularly."

"And why not? Don't you hope the remarks made to police are given with a clear head?"

"I assumed the sheer amount of physical evidence - including being _tied to his bed in his apartment_ \- made my statement largely unnecessary. More protocol than an actual need to solve the crime."

"So the police stopped looking for a suspect after they arrested the defendant?"

"You'd have to ask the police about that."

"Ah, yes, the police. On that subject, I noticed that prior to your alleged victimhood, the lead detective on the case was named Sam Brasen, and once you became involved he was taken off the case. Is there any relation?"

"My older brother."

"You get along well? Send Christmas cards?"

"Is this relevant?" she asked, glancing at the judge. She hadn't spoken to Sam in years, and she wouldn't commit perjury, but she also didn't want to air her dirty laundry in front of a packed courtroom.

"Your defensiveness certainly is," the defense lawyer said.

"I am willing to answer questions related to the case," she said sharply. "But my personal life is irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant when Detective Brasen is your brother, and you were found less than a day after you were allegedly abducted."

"Objection," the prosecutor said, standing. "Your Honor, as Dr. Brasen has pointed out, her familial relationships have nothing to do with the case. He's trying to turn these proceedings into a sideshow."

"Sustained. Counsel, a new line of questioning. The jury is instructed to disregard all matters relating to Dr. Brasen's family."

"All right, then. Dr. Brasen, how would you characterize your relationships prior to becoming involved with three men at one time?"

"Objection! Irrelevance!"

"Sustained. Counsel, restrain your questions to those relevant to the case."

"It goes to motive, Your Honor," he said earnestly.

The judge examined him. "Objection overruled with reservations," she said finally. "But counsel, you had better have a point. Witness is directed to answer the question."

Maria swallowed. "Sorry, can you repeat the question?"

"How would you characterize your relationships prior to meeting the three men you call your husbands?"

"Few and far between," she said slowly.

"Not a party animal?"

"Not at all."

"And were you treated nicely by your exes? Hearts and flowers?"

She hesitated; then, cursing the laws against perjury, she reluctantly said, "No."

"No." He let the word hang in the air between them. "Would you perhaps say they were abusive?"

"Yes," she said, the word being reluctantly torn from her mouth.

"Would they have reason to harm you?"

"Not years after we broke up," she said.

"But before you broke up?"

"Is that relevant? I'm in a good relationship. I'm happy with who I chose to be with. I was happy with my relationship then. 'Hearts and flowers', to use your own phrase. I hadn't seen any of my ex-boyfriends in years by the time your client abducted m-"

"A decision as to his innocence has yet to be handed down," the lawyer interrupted. "It is yet to be seen whether he did, in fact, abduct you, or whether it was someone else."

"I was in his apartment!" Maria yelled at him. "I delivered my children in his bed! My spine was broken while I was giving birth in his bedroom! Who else would it have been? Even if you don't believe a word I've said, the-"

The judge banged her gavel. "Dr. Brasen, you will calm yourself," she said sharply. "Counsel, find a new line of questioning."

"Yes, Your Honor," the lawyer said, looking like he'd been forced to swallow his client's bedsheets after Maria had been taken away in the ambulance. "No further questions."

"Witness is free to leave."

Sam met her outside the courtroom and wrapped her in a hug without asking. She clung to him, badly shaken. He whispered meaningless reassurances until she pulled back from him, leaving wet spots on his shirt that neither of them mentioned.

The held hands as they walked back to the car and drove back to the hotel, where they checked out and drove back home. The highway knotted up with cars leaving work shortly after they got off the DC Beltway, and I-66 turned into a parking lot. Sam pulled off at the next exit and found a small diner, where they grabbed dinner and made idle chitchat until close to seven, when they hoped the highway was in better shape. They made it home close to nine and went straight to bed, where they stretched out and made love slowly and languidly. Sam held her close as she cried and begged him to remind her how much she was loved.


End file.
